Without our cloaks, can you place our names? You miss the point?
We’ve adopted a decorative indeterminacy wearing our terminal degrees, while anticipating how equivocal we are about rights in Bedlam.

Unlike a head in the head, a bad faith supreme court is traded from and through the top. Time to find fortune underground, in smokey ransom north of here. As noted last century, there’s the rustic perp, a leading indicator for a doorpost modernism and muddled cool.

“Could you be a little more specific, doctor?”

With every rallentando I feel cleaner, more nondenominational than ever
Now a little drunk I look up at elm crocuses fighting odor, climbing the trunk.
It’s air apparent. I feel cleaner with you. Clearer in noble gas and flux. I do.
Molecules will sue

You — they’ll sue us both for our goals and coral glow —
What a snit! Apart from love I am ashamed now
Breaking up with you feels like getting tested for flu ..
You and I in slow, we hope, radon decay
that stays unaffiliated yet torched with prayer.

25: No dying here, let those in favor never be erased. Prost!
A few words will travel, ‘unlooked for,’ calibrated by your joy / you’re doing-the-honors spoken (rather than boasting) within a larger-scale dialectic —

a painful victory and public outreach in your glory. A triumph! Poof...

After, for a frown, a thousand victories once buried pride / the sun’s eye.

We’re proud of them. Happy we are in favor of your love fresh from the book, also

one for the books I read and love, whose fortune spreads your joy we honor most.

Tuesdays in timespace,
Are your hands yours?
Are mine mine?
These bring up tonal questions
Of anatomy and possession.

CVS counter. I know him, he knows me, I admire him, vice versa 

.. sorry, I don’t have any associations I’ll add. I was driving everywhere. Don’t know why we are in this automatic summation of now or that a minute from now after the transaction but before thinking it thru, sending it over my head, with only a few elements incised to form solid bands connected to CVS.

Withholding the time-inverse we reupholster & improve levels of comfort across consciousness / we, that is, the explicator in you & me. A chance laden balance.

That balance rotates with our fooling ourselves over variant hazards in our heads tilted 
vertically to catch some sun. Inelegant in our cultish way we look down on square plots of daily thought outlines.

87: Sodajerks. Their stock was luminous. Once.

Adding that phrase furthered ambition, amusing
vim shaken out from the inside. Each jerk had a skeleton curse, after all; the lot growing
fewer over time. (Youth — not occupation, no greater riches, nor better judgment — remains the determinate object of love.) Age, an emotional matter,
language models for 3 dimensional firewalls while waking you
then not knowing you. You jerk.

Male muses —

— the vulnerable and most maligned of all muses were not held enough as children on a moonscape of manic beaks. Ever notice? Certainly I wasn't. Now I have to make excuses for ex-friends buried below their own animation with no heirs.
They’re donning newer synthetics, seeming only half familiar, and they’re too intense, plundering the transport of their ambience. 

And I was musing, simple stuff picking up a pen.

We marry. There are mantras on rustic tolerance, manners but no one has more than the allotted answers for the stumper final (newer solutions are nothing less than what we have in mind!) :
Did I mention Wittgenstein helped set our algebraic terms? This is a dynamic factor everywhere living experts supersede manners and physicality itself, where there is no privacy. Not now. Started before Béla Tarr’s close ups, his editing, the ‘border violations’ and the runtime of his films transcended precise location and presence, running forward and back.

Hate altered. 
 
So we’ll carry on. We can’t do better. 
 
The system fills in our minds and in other matters even as  
Our hair hangs down in a consciously mixed media ceremony. You can’t throw consciousness out. It helps there’s a mating dance to appreciate what we are shadowing — working on it.   
 
There’s body hustle, along with cargo rips in funnels of the system where uppermost thoughts burgeon in ennobling, blobby warmth... yours, accompanied by addiction to risk.   
 
Come here often?

17: I can’t be a second late — I’m hellbent to write you down on paper, to put down the beauty of your eyes where whole numbers enumerate all your graces (even as one ‘poet’ lies) —

Tho my paper yellows with age... by your grace you should live twice. But who will believe any of these half-touches could be living in parts of you without tangible proof, without your offspring stretching all the way into the night, keenly inanimate now tho about to live all this time.

You say no way, I only half like it, bleh! / The poet lies
...lies, but no more than other earthly tongues filled with living rights to one antique song...

Coat of arms:
There’s something to mining homilies and off-color
copy, imitating / replicating narrative in tandem for the evening drive and later.

We’ve now passed the second-cousin stage of wretchedness. You’re
good to take it up with authorities before severing qualms
whose ambiguity is settled by mere syntax
as warm-to-medium as a visual partnership queued up for sleepy play.

What does there’s still a move to go do?
It’s just a feeling, the only unmoving part.

We are a color of cunnilingus. I noticed, though, you and I applied for pharmaceutical assistance, an oscillation gelatin called Sparkling Affront.
Nothing was more or less than arabesque, forgetting our place in the secret order of failure. We once left a lavish record of the male-female hush from hand to fingers to mouth: in epic hock, half-buried to our hips. 

Our temperature raised the magnitude of repetitions into a shriveling median in the after-life or its meandering dissolution ... 

An obtainable conspiracy, altogether, surely no hoax.

9: No form of you.
Feels anything but unused, average.. a spent, destructive sort of guilt, blandness also a problem.

Your world consumed by issueless fears of experience / current status / win-loss =

Hey here I am! Staying single / you and I may change our minds!
I almost forgot to.
Could we? ah! you and I matter to a few. I’ll commit in sleep ...
We are gracious, watched over and settled into a kindly almost unthrifty shiftiness.
Still enjoying practice, wailing, banging triangles and drums ...
Your private voice, wet as children’s eyes. Look.

I wake [Ah!] — My own voice raspy.
A life desire talking with you,
but no form of you.

Here’s an envelope of moods. Statement enclosed.   
I’ve highlighted failures in the box where you select tall, athletic-like aromas.   
  
Speaking of like, make your counter statement gripping shadows on a glacier.  
I own these two-way ideas, to scale.   
They keep adding up. And I have no modesty issues, none detected, fewer and fewer policy goals.   
  
Soon we’ll relax our balance, no matter (nor anti-matter) that once seemed clear enough, but not now, here we are...    
  
like two gypsy-turvy vapors in more untitled moods.

One needs antic intellectualism. Lead-free prose.
Four husbands.
Simplistic, Manichaen juxtaposition.
A solitary genius in the workplace (seaside). Etc.

Jousting snacks.
New verbs like dave, firebug, Stradivari.

There was a boom in robots once.
It all came about back in 1st or 2nd grade.
And if you invested then, daylight garners you
several that breathe, toting samples of published
ontologies, torrents of taste alleged. Memory has it we
don’t have the brains to recall their recipes.
We politely followed them, tho, unwed yet at peace
until we ran into a couple out cold staring thru ice.

Is this bluff for real? one asked, hesitantly,
before the ice covered future grades.

Sonnet 6:

We radicalize to what we will best.
Beauty distilled in summer is a 10 and like usury always a gamble.
My tongue in your ear refigures a pair.
A fair hand, a treasure 10 to one.
Happy to repay or loan you the rest, and glad
you’re a willing fan, departing before

the winter leaves through the yard .. you’re much too fair
And brush your hair? Brush it back down.

In evolution we may have had an identity crisis
when who knows how they’re doing this

on our agenda? Near the teary top we crate
handiwork, cover it with a power tarp, drain it of weight.

Moss alive! I could lose another i.d. if any of this touches either of us. Or ours.
I used to have a power dependency that’s reasonable to regret.
I think it’s polite to say ‘power,’ not ‘ostentatious pensiveness for hours.’

An emanation is a specter brought up a peg. Just to clear things up for us, you or me. 
I’ve moved to a new couplet.  
 
Enticement entails the fewest specters impossible to imagine. 

So I’m passive but I don’t believe in spooks. Here’s the outline.   
 
A few strings were pulled to get me in this new factual place with wraiths I would never have chosen myself.  
 
I’m here. 
Shall times’s best jewel from time’s chest lie hid  
maintaining a competitive smile for a maxillary edge you own only if you go overboard.   
 
No, I may not be deep enough; loose alliteration masks that.

One main test: You can’t waste time.

It’s easy going out and doing things you don’t know. No repeat parts.  
  
A severe tone? Start playing. Start writing. Dig in.   
  
The charge there thrills in peeling back from nothing as well as failing to resist your moment. Or ex-moment (now).   
I’m leaving you everything glazed or less remedial, along with fragments in B-flat, thinking them over.   
  
I saw remorse somewhere?  
  
(Should the young be thrown a pianist’s shh?)   
  
Run for our false/full lives. Or not.

77: Blank careers contain these mind games refereed in shade. For work, we look to a future far outside realia (but always at ‘work’!) or at minimum, we should feel enriched, taking our joint profit as clear if vacant progress to eternity. Vacant. These precious minutes uncommitted, often both urbane and in bad taste, I whisper to myself, falling for your acquaintance.
*
For work, we were enriched mostly within glass buildings. When you’re on my mind I see cubism and jittery social apps, empaneled or at minimum propped up as official progress (taking all sides). Blank leaves in our journals, we know. Learning gives us memories, tho, too many minutes wasted, mostly overrated. Let’s show how we commit to your book, to nurse your brainchild delivered as a time share of your stealth, your voice,

your beauty’s imprint.

How could I be so foolish in bed, you could ask.
The matter at hand is you.

There are subtitles, various tongues. We write while staying awake and translate the exposed skin of dreaming.
Nothing accrues but there’s a lifetime of taking thoughts to heart.
I’m bringing this up from the back to the throat. (You asked.)

Sleeping has nothing to do with nothing.

So I put my name in. Just one. Am I fit for a leftie scenario? The next one. Are you and I? I ran out of balls rating you. Instead of my apolitical goals, I found so much of what you say sexy and unique, but all our data are adulterated. Male and female. Shrubs and more shrubs. We’re leaning Green Party. 

I have no use for you.
I’m drunk on uses of empathy and bounce. Or plans change. 
Universality is homesick, having lived off the in-laws of physics. But not now, daybreak — 

Conditions look staggered, first up, off-ivory — wanting a universe to admire (me too).
Then a profane Rubik of dawn’s assured color range,
yet how far & vast connivance redeems all that
to put aside loss, cheek and whiffs of misuse. In concatenation, O dawn.

5: No remembrance now. Of confounding beauty. Of your lovely gaze where beauty dwells. 

Once I played a stealth painter portraying sweet, unrobed women and men. Subjects were mostly strung out on sofas — big, jaunty shapes who swaddled their inner pooch — gentle work but yes I loved you better frosty / lusty!  

I was framed by approaching you in summer, distilling pulverized, liquid dots
— a pointillist prisoner doing time, 

never resting, pent in by tyrannical daylight that still excels in leading us on —

I added frontal motion to the story about those looks of yours that intimidate, m’lord. 
Visual surprise comes with an infrequent snow flake or embers 
floating down to our nose level. That’s cool — creamed just for dating you, blackmailed —   
 
wandering into the new wrong murder guild  
 
chopped into little squares of hypnotic drumming  
 
and massive pulses projecting smiles and feeling 
invisible. Totally insane. M’lord’s libido.

This original copy has been duplicated.
The rest is history, throwing leaflets.

80: ...cross-pollination of English and psychology wracks up a revitalizing boundless deep. I’ll assume you suspect I faint when writing this. Situationists use the shallowest fare and re-chart it onto subterranean literature. When I write about you, I’m in worthless sympathy, humbled and worse, tongue-tied while I try a couple of poses — ha — there are great, pure benefits spent by proud, broad-minded recruits afloat, ocean wide! Wouldn’t you know they are in an infinite series in the history of fame and naval bavardage. (Or from another angle they are a series of teasers and the teased but goodly proud, cast away.) ha —

2 quests.. Just who are we to say we should attend to what I am doing? It’s love like ours that pitches English to prioritized claims.

In modern tongues, a truly socialist government is not that hot.
Wearing nothing but pilates for motives, eager too,

Mixing shy and rabbity, squeaking in biblical
French — it’s just plain meaner. And we negotiate euros (cash) for rapprochement.

Snapping to / unsnapping.

The power


system is decentralized
mounting a bait and switch to chalk up
the utility of hip lingerie per se,


discreet shipping, and in
this case not a thing can be serene.

Anyway, go to long love making memorizing
parallel futures on a projective plane.

Why go there without force?

When we last rehearsed this,
it made no language difference what we
believe or what the soul is.

The enlightened instant comes down
to how this can be put together
surely, entirely.

High sensitivity equals high urgency.

I felt something.

The hollow inside is mixed up, the survey said;

overlapping symbols’re happening way out in the ocean. 

Your ocean. Your breathlessness. My Weimaraner

tilted sideways and faithful as he is he’s destroying
our bed, our non faith and consequences.

23: My agent is in a rage. Imperfect
actor whose shortcomings balloon in ‘harmony’ & use. 

Imperfect — for love’s epistemology scampers in secrecy 
in so large abundance I hold to fiercer ideas for leveraging your silent heart.
Listen to your eyes, please. 

My dumb mien may adhere to expressive rules, 
pleading w/ you, entered into by trusting you first, always. It’s always 

your clear refinement where character offers libation, a rite
to love you, and I act on my own so to speak —
Speak from your eyes so I can call for love. Can you hear me now?

We’re fidgeting, minding our conceits,
lit by mid-sentence clarity, sporting and alway Floridian — we’re in an enclosure with no pulpit, without dogma... passageways to enter then exit like work in progress spreading out in willful overloads of language design — Skilled decor, de-simplified, notional mime in contretemps between science and whose climb? Ironic technologies with no precedent — a corporate hold across a matrix of manners and adaptations, restrained pragmatics and hermetic syntax. Nice beachfront. Amuse our ears and eyes: why so few and fewer bonds with semiotics doubting itself (if only a..) — it seems an absurd referent and then less off-rhyme.

I’m a metaphysicist to an inner antecendant.
Lemme go.

Info-tainments advance by themselves, lovely distractions, shooting the steepest mountains w/ slime. Thinking back, they segue to riveting motions in our self interrogation — commuting to work where we share high fives & broker a plan!

The cross-hatching allowing ancestors to exchange a few xenogenetic traits for others, has just about run out of steam. We’re left wondering, once more what there is about this plush solitude that makes us think we will ever get out, or even want to.

48: One only care, a trifle now..

Save you aren’t here / I feel you are tho. Hmm..

Your tho is a storyline left as prey
For tomorrow’s lies, even before the stealing starts. Seems true
But you thirst for it all, joining all
Arms.
I feel yours up to my chest — you, past lovers and I play
A long shot in thirst now:
Pleasure
Outlasts grief (lost, found, lost, however, in one flow.)

As ‘he makes his profits, remind yourself...’ the ex-president’s brain is said to resemble Chuck Norris’s. Interesting esthetic, not fatal — Chuck had a punning bone, also he was a merciless kook. Really his movies remind me of tin futures & allegiance to ice ants swarming as active mind controllers sidle away —